One Hundred Days, One Thousand Years
by Francienyc
Summary: A prequel of sorts to Kings in Exile. Peter's journey through Prince Caspian, and how the experience teaches him at home. Book and movieverse combo.
1. Prologue

_A/N: As the summary says, this is designed to be a prequel to "Kings in Exile." Believe it or not, I actually conceived of this story and wrote the prologue about two years ago, because I've always thought one of the cruelest plot twists in all of literature was Peter and Susan's (and subsequently Edmund and Lucy's) exile from Narnia. I wanted to explore what justifiable reason there was for exiling the High King. Now I'm finally picking up the story again, because of course I've seen the movie. I love the book Prince Caspian. I also love the movie. I realize that there were a lot of plot changes, and I'm a bit of a purist, but frankly, those plot changes were cool. Peter fighting, Peter having some teething problems with Caspian--it all fits in very much with how I imagine his character. Ergo, this story will be somewhat book verse, somewhat movie verse, and sometimes a melding of the two which is my own version. Such a lovely world fanfic is. Enjoy! And let me know how you like it, if you care to. _

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The weather was unusually hot for late September, and there were bees buzzing merrily near the ivy outside the window. More than anything Peter wanted to be running across the lawns, free from drudgery for a little while. No, not more than anything. The thing he wanted most was to be running across the fields in Narnia with his sword in his hand, helping Caspian learn how to govern the land. Though who knows? Perhaps by now Caspian had lived some two score years…

The professor's high droning voice cut across his thoughts. "Now, gentlemen, who can tell me what happened to Napoleon after his defeat at the battle of Leipzig? Ah, yes, Mr. Eversham."

"He abdicated," Eversham said smugly. Peter sighed a little and started to doodle in the corner of his notebook.

"And did the Allies accept this abdication?"

"No. They wanted him to surrender unconditionally, and so they had him sign the Treaty of Fontainebleau," Eversham continued. Peter heard Edmund mocking him in his head. Imagining what his brother would say made Peter smile, and he bent his head further over his notebook, continuing his idle doodles. He realized he was tracing the pattern of the lion rampant on his shield, and he started to work more intently, so much so that he was quite startled when Potter poked him from behind and hissed "Pevensie! Haven't you got ears? He's calling on you."

Peter looked up at once, and the professor was staring down his nose at him. "Sorry, sir?" Peter asked politely. He fought down the surge of annoyance at the condescending expression.

The professor's face melted a bit; Peter had developed a talent for making teachers like him. He's so polite, they said. So respectful and mindful of his duties to the school. They wished that he could teach his brother to follow in his footsteps. Peter often chafed at these glowing letters, but now he was a little grateful. The professor rarely repeated questions, he merely docked points. However, he said in a crisp voice, "I asked, Mr. Pevensie, what the conditions of the Treaty of Fontainebleau were aside from utter surrender."

Peter fought to keep his face impassive and not blush. Lucy did this often, and he had the same tendency as her when embarrassed, he just hid it better. "He was exiled to Elba," he said in a steady voice.

"And did he stay there?"

"No. He sailed back to France and began the Hundred Days."

"Precisely. Very good, Mr. Pevensie." He strode back to the lectern at the front of the room. "Napoleon still had so much support in France that the story goes he rode alone on horseback to greet the army the King had sent to stop him and, dismounting said, 'Friends, you know me. If any of you would shoot his emperor, do it now.' The men did not shoot, they cheered 'Vive l'Empereur!' and helped him march to Paris and take the city, and thus the nation. Naturally the British and their allies were not about to let Napoleon seize power again, and so they sent soldier to the field. The resulting campaign culminated at Waterloo, where the Duke of Wellington…"

Here Peter started to tune out again. He had bent over his notebook again to write a note about the soldiers shouting "Vive l'empereur!" and wound up staring at his half-drawn lion.

He was properly British in some ways, and he knew enough to consider Napoleon a tyrant of the continent. He celebrated the fact that Nelson's column still stood tall in Trafalgar Square in spite of all the efforts of the Germans to raze London with bombs. Still, he couldn't help feeling a moment of empathy for the Emperor. That moment where the armies cheered his return must have hit him straight in the heart. It must have been the exact sound he was longing to hear. Who knew the love of a people better than Peter, who had Trumpkin introduce him at every turn as the High King and the Old Narnians welcome him with strained and joyous excitement. And then of course came the second exile for Napoleon, farther away to St. Helena, and the knowledge that he would never see his beloved France again. Maybe Peter didn't love France the way Napoleon did, but he knew what it was like to love the country you ruled, and now he knew what it was like to live with the knowledge you'd never see it again. He made a promise, if he ever got to Paris, to visit Napoleon's tomb and pay his respects. He knew Napoleon wasn't all peerless glory; he, Peter, would never crown himself, snatching the crown from Aslan to do it. Yet if he ever chanced to meet the French Emperor, he couldn't help but feel they'd have quite a lot to talk about.

The professor dismissed the class, and as Peter closed his notebook he took one last glance at the lion rampant and the line he had scratched next to it: "Vive l'empereur!" In his head he heard the roar of the people, his people: "All hail Peter, High King of Narnia!" He could see the vision before his eyes. The Narnians, flushed and jubilant with victory, raising their glasses and their voices to him. Beside him, even Caspian joined in heartily. The huge bonfire crackled, sending sparks up into the velvet sky. Peter lifted his eyes as if he could see it, but instead he saw the plain white ceiling of the classroom and a musty cobweb in the corner. The sounds around him became not the harmonious roar of Narnians in their thousand voices, but the braying of schoolboys let out for the day. Peter sighed wearily and got up slowly from his seat, taking up his notebook to examine his old heraldic arms one more time before going to seek his brother.


	2. The Journey Back

The morning the Pevensies left for school the house was in upended chaos. Lucy had packed all her dolls then unpacked them when Edmund advised her she would be laughed at. Susan ran into Peter at least four times on the stairs as he hauled the trunks while she carried the laundry. Their mother was making sandwiches in the kitchen and shouting orders. They almost seemed to be ready with a few minutes to spare until Mum called upstairs to make sure the children had their uniforms on. Of course they didn't since they were still in the holiday mindset, and so there was a mad dash to stuff arms into shirts and dig out ties and hats from trunks. Peter and Edmund found that their uniforms had been crossed and had to change once more after laughing at the sight of Edmund flopping about in trousers that were too long, while Peter's stopped at midcalf and were far too tight. After all this they were running several minutes behind, and there was a mad dash to get to the train station on time.

For the first mile or two as the train whizzed through the London suburbs, the four Pevensie children sat sprawled across the seats of their compartment, trying to catch their breaths. Finally Peter summoned the energy to organize the luggage on the racks. Susan handed round a thermos of tea their mother had packed and they all drank thirstily. Edmund mentioned he was hungry, but Susan reminded him "You'll be a good deal hungrier later," and so they decided to save the sandwiches for later. Peter pulled a bag of sherbet lemons from his pocket and passed them around.

"You still have some of these!" Susan exclaimed with a smile when she saw Peter's favorite childhood sweet.

He shrugged as he popped one in his mouth. "I was in the newsagent's the other day," he explained casually. She smiled and rubbed his arm, and in that he read the comment she did not say: "Same old Peter."

He sighed, half with contentment and looked out the window. After awhile, Lucy came over and tucked herself between Peter and Susan, ducking under Peter's arm. He smiled at her vaguely and gave her a squeeze, watching Edmund sprawl out across the two seats opposite with satisfaction, smiling lazily as he read his book. Peter smiled vaguely at his brother's characteristic reaction and turned to look out the window. The train compartment was quiet, and that gave Peter time to think, something which he had been avoiding as much as possible; for when he thought, he remembered.

The problem was the remembering. Together they couldn't help it; the tide of memories pulled them under and they started talking about Narnia, reliving it all despite the professor's warning not to. Lucy spoke most often of going back, but it was Susan who remembered the most, and the most easily. Peter knew that was because she adjusted most slowly.

The suburbs were past, and Peter looked out at the green fields flicking by, dotted with sheep and horses. He waited for someone to recall a memory. Though he himself was filled with them, he was never the first to speak. He had never been the kind for speaking his thoughts. If he was lucky, someone could tell them; if he was not, he kept them inside. That was the way, wasn't it? A King, especially a High King, couldn't burden everyone else with his troubles. He had to take everyone's troubles on and find a way to fix them.

He felt Susan looking at him and turned to give her a little smile. She smiled back and shrugged a little.

"I don't see why boys and girls have to go to different schools. That's not how we did it in Narnia," Lucy said. She tried to sound indignant, but her voice was very small.

"Cheer up, Lu," Peter offered. "It won't be so bad. Su will be with you, and Ed and I aren't that far away. We'll see each other soon, and summer holidays will be here before you know it." He avoided Susan's eyes when he said this, because he knew she would see that he was being cheerful for Lucy's sake. Really, the impending separation filled him with dread as well.

The four of them had been together for fifteen years, hardly separated except for the odd battle and diplomatic expedition. And even when those things happened it was alright, somehow, because they decided when to leave and when to come home. Now they were being wrenched apart just when they needed each other most.

Edmund looked up from his book and sighed. He rested his book on his chest and said, "It really begins now, doesn't it? We've really got to go back to being kids, to _living_ like kids. It was alright at the professor's because he knew we were Kings and Queens. But now, no one will know." He twisted his mouth.

Lucy looked at her hands and sighed sharply, turning into Peter's chest. Susan leaned over and rubbed her back. Peter wondered how he could manage to learn to take orders from moldy professors with dusty voices. He clenched and unclenched his hand, reaching mechanically for the sword that was not at his side and bit his lip when his fist closed over air. "Anyway," he sighed, trying to sound optimistic, "We've got each other and that's most important. I'll write to you all the time, Lu, I promise."

"And if you ever get lonely, just come and sit with me awhile," offered Susan.

Lucy smiled a bit. "Like I used to before I started riding out to battle, when we both missed the boys."

That started them reminiscing, and soon they were all laughing, talking over one another, delighted in the memories. If anyone walking by had chanced to hear them, they would have heard not the ring of childish laughter, but the merriment of adults. Unconsciously, they took on their royal accents and spoke as they used to in Narnia. Before they knew it, they had come to the station where they were supposed to change.

As the conductor came down the corridor announcing the stop, all their faces fell. They fell quiet again, and Peter thought that Lucy went a shade paler as he and Edmund got the trunks down. He pointed this out to Edmund, but Edmund only shrugged as if to say "She'll be alright." This was a silent version of the conversation they had had for years in Narnia. Peter wanted to catch Lucy every time she fell, keep her out of the reach of every woe, heal her every wound, but Edmund said she deserved a chance to live her life, and pointed out on more than one occasion that she was tougher than Peter gave her credit for. Thus Lucy was Edmund's comrade in arms far more than Peter's, which always made Edmund shake his head and say "You're missing out—she's a cracking archer, and she's quick with that dagger, too."

They all piled onto the platform and watched the train chug away. Edmund pointed out that the girls' train would be along any moment, and he sounded very somber. Susan said nothing but went a little tight around the mouth and guided them over to the bench. The railway station was sundrenched, full of the dappled patterns of leaves and the scent of late summer flowers. It would have been a peaceful place, but for the throngs of children dotting the platform, loud with bottled energy, with excitement, with the thrill of seeing each other again and the aftershocks of leaving others behind. Above all this quotidian noise there were shouts in the distance, brash shouts, and Peter lingered to look.

He knew the group of boys coming up the platform, the swaggering, moneyed types who thought they owned the world. They thought themselves kings of their boarding school. Once, Peter had been on their good side and had almost been close enough to see the vulnerability and insecurity behind their defiance. He no longer had patience for such a complete lack of nobility, though.

They must have caught him looking, because one snorted and said "What are you looking at, Pevensie?" Peter's mouth went tight, and he willed himself to remain patient. He tried to paste a smile on his face.

Lucy appeared at his elbow then and tugged his sleeve. "Come on, Peter, let's go sit down. We haven't got much time to say goodbye."

At this the boys snorted and snickered. "Poor little one. Say goodbye to your brother" one said in an overly precious voice, reaching out to pat Lucy on the head. She scowled and moved a little closer to Peter.

"Leave her alone," he said. He knew it was stupid; the less said, the sooner they would move on. It was a diplomatic trick even he had learned. He couldn't help himself though. Who would dare talk to Lucy, a Queen and a warrior, as if she were nothing but a baby?

"Do you have a problem, Pevensie?" the leader of the gang, Smithson, asked. He sounded perfectly polite, but there was something dangerous in his voice.

"As a matter of fact—"

"Don't, Peter," Lucy implored. "Come on."

"Your sister's smart," Smithson observed. Peter felt an overwhelming longing to punch him hard. He set his jaw, however, and turned away. Smithson's taunts followed him. "And so are you—look at that! Guess you've learned to walk away when you're beaten."

Peter stopped dead in his tracks and was about to wheel around, but as he looked up his eyes lighted on Susan. She was staring at him with pleading eyes; the disappointment was evident on her face. He looked at Lucy, whose brow was tensed, and then at Edmund who stared back and gave a little shake of the head. Peter pressed his lips together and continued on, sinking onto the bench and trying to ignore the boys' sharp taunts.

Susan rubbed between his shoulder blades comfortingly. She had often done this when he was hunched over treaties and petitions in his study at Cair Paravel. He thought of the large desk with its marble top and curved wooden legs, the golden inkpot always filled, the creamy parchment to write on, the sealing wax and his own seal that he stamped so officially onto each document and proclamation. Then he thought of the cramped little desk waiting for him in a bleak dormitory room. He shook his head slowly.

"It's better to have walked away," Edmund observed.

Peter lifted his head, his bitterness finally getting the best at them. "Is it? Is it really? You know them, Ed, they'll bother me all year for that."

"It was still better," Lucy maintained with a nod. "You know they're no match for you and you're no bully."

"They _were_ no match for me," Peter muttered mutinously, but he subsided with a sigh. Susan stroked his hair now, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to relax. "How long do we have to stay here? When can we go home?"

Susan paused in her caress. "Are—are you so sure we will?"

Peter opened his eyes and looked at her with some astonishment. "The Professor said—"

"I know what the Professor said, but how can he know for sure? Who can ever know with Narnia? One minute we're riding through the woods and the next we're back in England," Susan's voice was pained, and her eyes grew glassy as she spoke. She bit her lip and dropped her head to look at her lap. "I knew we shouldn't have—"

"What?" Edmund snapped. "Knew we shouldn't have chased the Stag? Gone past the lamppost? Spit it out Susan."

She looked up and shook her head, looking more anguished still. "That's not what I meant."

Edmund sighed and slumped in his seat and Peter could see in his brother's face the same regret he felt. They should never have gone past the lamppost. Susan warned them, but Peter was the first to disagree, to insist on pressing on. Edmund and Lucy had seconded him. Peter remember that conversation to the letter because he had replayed it in his head so many times. If only…if only…

"We'll go back," Lucy said simply. Her expression was quiet but expectant, and there was a shining certainty in her face that had grown more constant since they had come back to England. Peter smiled to see it in their little beacon, and he reached over to ruffle her hair.

He withdrew his hand and the four fell into silence. Peter reflected on the term to come and listening to dry professors talk about faraway things. He had had lessons in Narnia, of course, but they were different. There when they talked of astronomy they went to look at the stars. When Peter learned of past battles, he would then go to the war room and with Edmund would devise his own battle strategy. He sighed heavily, staring off and watching for the train, wondering how he could cope much longer with being a king in a boy's body. He glanced at Edmund and Susan and Lucy and wondered what they thought of school, and being back.

He was on the point of asking so he could have some company in his musings when Lucy gave a sharp cry.

Edmund looked at her strangely, but the next moment he was up on his feet crying "Ow!" in echo of her.

Peter's eyes widened. "What on earth—" He broke off, because he felt what the others must be feeling, a fierce tugging so hard it was almost painful, and yet a longing to go wherever he was being pulled. But it was so strange. There had to be a more logical explanation, and he turned to Susan. Perhaps she was pulling him. "Susan, let go! What are you doing? Where are you dragging me to?"

"I'm not touching you. Someone is pulling _me_," Susan replied, her expression somewhere between annoyance and distress. If Peter's heart wasn't pounding so badly, it might have been humorous.

There was a moment of confusion and pain and fervent desire to go, and a train came rocketing past them and the whole station seemed to shake. Then everything was still, and the four found themselves in the heart of a thick wood. The air was close around them. Peter stared up at the tops of the trees which blotted out the sky and held his breath.

"Oh Peter!" Lucy cried, tugging on his sleeve, "Do you think we're back in Narnia?"

He didn't dare say. He had the feeling, but if he spoke it aloud and he was wrong? The idea of being anywhere but Narnia was painful. "It might be anywhere," he answered, reminding himself to tamp down his hope. "I can't see a yard in all these trees. Let's try to get into the open—if there is any open." It was better to set a task and not think of possibilities. He looked to Edmund and Susan. Susan moved closer to him and nodded her assent, murmuring "I think that's best." Edmund was peering intently into the woods, but he gave a distracted nod.

But as they broke through the trees to the beach and saw the glowing sands and glittering water, Peter's heart leapt. He pelted after the others, wading into the water and splashing and laughing. This seemed a miracle, too good to be true after the tedium of the train station and indeed, all of England. The sun was warm and the water deliciously cool and it was all so perfect he didn't trust it. He hardly dared believe that he had come back.


End file.
